


Dark and Light

by Ariella1941



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Death Knight, Gen, Paladins, Wrath of the Lich King
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-10
Updated: 2011-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 11:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4099837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariella1941/pseuds/Ariella1941
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scarlytte Black finds herself caught up in an ancient conflict during the Alliance's advance into the Howling Fjord,and a shadow from her past might be the her only salvation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark and Light

            _It certainly is… different,_ Scarlytte Black thought as she studied the exterior walls and gate house of Westguard Keep, the young paladin’s new assignment. Scarlytte and War Mistress, her loyal charger, had traveled a long journey from Menethil Harbor and had expected a sturdy fortress at the end of it. Instead, two stone walls curved out from the gatehouse, which was, in reality, only two towers set with watch fires. The open back faced the sea, and in an unwelcome burst of reality, Scarlytte admitted even the undead would have trouble scaling the seaside cliffs.  Reality continued to point out to the veteran of both Azeroth and Outland that the Alliance had just built the place, unlike Valgarde, which had been in Howling Fjord since Arthas’ first expedition to Northrend.

            Reality was undoubtedly correct, but the young woman wanted the strongest defenses the Valiance Expedition could muster if they were going to ask her to go after the… creature who had terrorized  
Azeroth, and her family personally for years. Arthas, as a death knight, had forced her family to flee Tirisfal Glades, and later his minions had murdered her sister when the Argent Dawn attempted a raid on Naxxramas.

            War Maiden shifted slightly; sensing her mistress’ distress. Scarlytte looked down at her faithful friend and smiled, “Sorry, girl, woolgathering.”     

            The mare whickered her acceptance as Scarlytte rode in toward the keep’s paddock.

            “Mistress Chelsea Reese?” she inquired of the sturdy blonde woman tending the horses.

            “Aye, Chelsea Reese, stable mistress of Westguard and the Explorer’s League at your service,” the woman glanced at Scarlytte’s well crafted and well used adamantine plate; then added quickly, “my Lady.”

            Scarlytte just laughed and shook her head, “No lady here, Mistress. Just a working paladin and her overworked mare.” Scarlytte pressed several gold in the stable mistress’ hand. “Usually, I’d see to her myself, but I need to report in to Captain Adams, and War Maiden’s had a hard time of it with the sea voyage and all.”

            The keep’s horse mistress studied the mare with a practiced eye, as she quietly pocketed the payment.

            “Aye, she does look a bit more gray than white, and the rents and stains on her barding,” nodding her satisfaction with what she saw, Mistress Reese turned to Scarlytte with a smile. “Nothing that a good rubdown, some warm mash and skilled mending can’t fix. You go see the Captain. It’ll probably take him some time to figure out what to do with you anyway.”

            Scarlytte nodded her thanks, “Mistress, you’re the Light’s answer to our prayers, now if you could only tell me where I can find food and drink after the Captain’s done with me?”

            “Building straight ahead as you exit the keep proper,” Mistress Reese stopped for a moment. “Ma’am, maybe I shouldn’t be saying this, but you might want to have a care at the inn. Those death knights assigned the keep spend more of their time there. When the six of them rode in on their beasts, I wanted to run for Father Levariol for confession.”

            Scarlytte smiled slightly, “I doubt we’ll have a problem, and I’ve yet to meet one of the Order of the Ebon Blade.”

            “Meetin’ one of _them_ is no pleasure, believe me. Best thing to be said about is they keep to themselves, usually, playing some kind of game.”

            Scarlytte well understood Mistress Reese’s reservations. For all that she was a member of the Explorer’s League, the young paladin doubted that Chelsea Reese’s work had brought her into contact with anything like a death knight prior to the Scourge’s most recent invasion.

            “I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied patting War Maiden one last time, then made her way across the busy courtyard to the keep.

 

* * *

 

            The meeting with Captain Adams surprised and pleased Scarlytte as much as the quality of the keep’s fortifications dismayed her. It was obvious the dwarven commander of Westguard Keep had too many fires and far  few resources with which to put them out. However, he showed his cunning and command experience. Adams knew and used the skills of his people, rather than potentially throwing them away uselessly. It marked Adams as a rare talent, and made Scarlytte grateful for it. 

             Entering the inn Scarlytte found the peace and quiet she sought flawed by several drunken off duty guards. They crowded a group sitting at the back of the inn; two of whom were playing chess while three others watched. Both the chess players and their observers had glowing ice blue eyes, the mark of death knights, and it was obvious the guards took exception to their presence. Scarlytte doubted they would have caused problems when sober, but drink gave them false courage. The knights focused on the game and paid no attention to the insults and curses of the guardsmen. Rather than calming the guards, hands began to stray toward hilts. Violence, it seemed, was imminent.

            “What goes on here!” 

            Scarlytte would never have a voice that would stop a mob at full cry, but her exclamation was enough to draw the attention of the guards.  The ringleader, belligerent with drink, turned toward her. His florid face darkened further when he saw it was a pretty young woman who was attempting to keep him from the objects of his ire.

            “Who in the bloody Hells might you be, girl?”

            Scarlytte’s face hardened and her eyes went flint as she faced the drunken soldier down. “My name, guardsman, is Scarlytte Black, paladin of the Light, and I wish to know what you are doing harassing our allies of the Ebon Blade?”

            “Allies!” the man shouted as he closed with her; his spittle flaying her cheek. “You expect me to tolerate the likes of them while good men and dwarves bleed and die against their master? Never!”

            The three death knights who had been observing the chess match turned as one toward the confrontation. One of the knights, a black haired dwarf with an eye patch, began to rise from his chair, but the night elf beside him lay a restraining hand on his shoulder. Scarlytte noted the exchange out of the corner of her eye and was grateful for the woman’s intervention. Even the smallest act from one of the knights could spark the violence Scarlytte hoped to avoid.

            “I expect that you follow the orders of your lawful commander, and the decrees of your king, Guardsman.” Scarlytte replied as her eyes swept over the crowd. “Varian Wrynn has accepted these knights, so I ask if you would sacrifice honor and duty for petty vengeance!”

            “Vengeance?” he roared. “Destroying these creatures is _justice_!”

            A new voice rose up, a soprano with a quaver that could only come from the other side of the grave. “So you would give us the same justice administered at Stratholme? Men, women, even children who died because they _might_ be infected. Do you wish to follow Arthas the Betrayer‘s footsteps?”

            The guardsman’s fellows sobered a bit from those words, and it gave Scarlytte an opening.

            Laying a gentle hand on his shoulder, Scarlytte looked the guardsman in the eye and with compassion in her voice said, “We’ve all known loss, Guardsman. I lost a sister at Naxxramas when Kel’Thuzad still ruled the Plague Lands, but we cannot allow our losses to harden us or our anger to overwhelm our compassion in pursuit of justice. To do so is to become as our enemy.”

            That last broke through the guards’ drink filled rage. There were a few mutters, but the crowd around the death knights’ table dispersed, leaving Scarlytte looking into the cool eyes of the death knight who had spoken up. The women shared a quick glance with her chess opponent, then stood and walked around the table to face Scarlytte. As she did so, she held out a gauntleted hand.

            “Thank you,” she said with grave respect. “Not many outside the order would stand for us. I’m Black Travesty.”

            Scarlytte took her hand firmly, shaking it with a slight smile. “I’m glad my efforts were helpful. I’m not much of a speaker, which is why I became a paladin rather than a priest!”

            The comment brought a laugh from the rest of the knights, and the dwarf grinned at her. “Aye to that! Better to swing a weapon than throw words at a problem. But ye’ll have to be forgivin’ our leader.” He nodded at Travesty. “She hordes words like a goblin hordes gold!”

            “Except when you anger her, Kern, then she spends more than a few,” the night elf supplied with a smile.

            “Ye got the right of it, lassie,” Kern agreed, “but what I was trying to get to was that we should introduce ourselves to our heroic rescuer.” The comment, in another light, could have been acid, but Kern seemed more amused and genuinely grateful than angry at Scarlytte’s unexpected intervention. “I’m Kern Deadeye, the night elf is Mirina Snowblaze. Travesty’s chess partner is Aaron LeGrey, and the lady gnome at the end of the table is Whisper.”

            Whisper raised her pink haired head and gave Scarlytte a smile of surprising warmth. The she turned to Kern and her hands flashed in elegant patterns for a moment. Kern watched, then turned back to Scarlytte.

            “Whisper wanted to add her thanks to the rest of us, paladin.”

            Scarlytte blinked. “She can’t speak?”

            Before Kern could reply Travesty spoke, “Before the Lich King ‘recruited’ Whisper, she was tortured, and her tongue was removed. Arthas appreciated the irony of a death knight who shared his non-sentient ‘subjects’ quiet nature.”

            “I apologize. I didn’t mean to cause pain with my question.”

            Whisper’s hands flashed again, this time almost with rebuke at her leader. Travesty returned her glare, then acquiesced. “Whisper reminds me that I too should heed your words and not let my anger at the Lich King get the best of me. I’m sorry for my rudeness.”

            “There’s no need for apologies. Let me buy you and your people a drink, Black Travesty, and maybe I can finally learn to play chess. My sister Megan tried to teach me, but I never was subtle enough for the game….”

            Before she could say more a youngster in keep livery barreled across the threshold of the inn. Looking about, the boy fixed on Scarlytte and darted over to her.

            “Paladin Black?” he asked in a voice that was still deciding between alto and tenor. Scarlytte nodded at the boy and he continued excitedly. “The Captain’s complements, ma’am. He’s asked that you go speak with Sapper Steerling at your earliest convenience.”

            The paladin slipped a couple silver into the boy’s palm for the service. “Please tell the Captain I’ll go to meet with Master Steerling right now.” As the boy jerked a nod in affirmation and disappeared out the door, Scarlytte sighed, envying his energy.

            Before she could apologize yet again to the death knights, Kern waved it away. “Don’t worry, lassie. We’ll be here when you get back from whatever errand Steerling needs of ye, then you can buy us all drinks.” His voice got louder so the barkeep could hear him. “And hopefully they’ll have managed to import a decent brew by the time ye return. This local stuff isn’t fit to be poured down the privy!”

            Master Goodhutch, the poor maligned barkeep, replied, “If you dislike my offerings so much, Master dwarf, you need not drink my stock dry every time you enter this place.”  

            Kern laughed, slapping the table hard enough to make both chess pieces and ale jacks dance. “A good retort there, Master Jason. A fine retort indeed.”

            Scarlytte shook her head at the dwarf’s strange humor, then bid the knights farewell. Travesty watched her go before returning to her seat at the side of the chess board opposite LeGrey.  She studied the board, but it was obvious her heart was no longer in the game. In pretense of concentration on her strategy, Travesty removed her helm, and the face that was revealed bore striking similarity to the holy warrior who had taken her leave. There were differences of course, even beyond the terrible aura of a death knight. Travesty’s face was heart shaped, with a slightly pointed chin, where Scarlytte’s was a perfect oval, and the death knight’s skin was fair compared to the almost olive tones of the paladin. But the facial structure and hair coloring were too similar for coincidence. 

            Aaron caught Travesty’s eyes across the board, and without a word, knew her unease. The pair had become lovers just prior to the assault on Naxxramas, and even death had not managed to destroy that feeling. So Aaron LeGrey knew Black Travesty by her birth name: Megan Black.

            “Are you all right?” he asked quietly, as the others made obvious efforts to be too distracted to hear the conversation.

            “I don’t want her here,” Travesty replied in a voice harsh with fear. “I don’t want her following my footsteps.”

            Aaron slid his chair next to hers, and put a comforting arm about her shoulders. Travesty tried to shift away, but Aaron held to her with implacable but gentle strength. “Do you truly believe Scarlytte, or any of your sisters for that matter, would be content to sit knitting while their home is being threatened? Especially when that threat is the Lich King?” Aaron drew her chin up with a gentle hand. “Meggie, you Black women are strong and stubborn. And I know you want to protect them from what happened to you, but you can’t stand in the way of another’s fate. Scarlytte is here, and like everyone who’s come, her being here may just tip the balance. The question is:  are you going to tell her the truth now that she is here?”

            Travesty couldn’t give an honest answer, even as she sensed her people straining to hear what she might say. None of the death knights assigned to Westguard had contacted family after they had returned to the Alliance. In fact, few death knights had for one of two reasons. The first was the concern that reconnecting with home and family would dilute their resolve to sacrifice in the name of vengeance on Arthas and all of his works. The other was the terrible fear of rejection; that rather a joyful homecoming the death knight would be shunned as a monster. It was that second fear that shown in Black Travesty’s eyes.

            “I’ll think about it.”

                   

* * *

                                                                                                                                                   

            Three days passed as Travesty wrestled with her dilemma. At first she was grateful Scarlytte was away from the keep, but by the end of the second day, the death knight began to worry. She knew it was irrational; Scarlytte was a trained warrior of the Light who was old enough to care for herself. So Travesty concerned herself with the routines of the keep: training her people, the inevitable paperwork that came with every command.

            The morning of the third day brought a messenger that Travesty could not ignore. War Maiden, flanks foaming with sweat and blood, came bolting through the open gates of Westguard. The charger looked as if she’d been to the wars, but there was no sign of her rider. Stable mistress Reese managed to gain a hold of the beast’s reigns, yet even as Mistress Reese tried to lead her away, War Maiden’s began to pull Reese back toward to the gate.

            While the horse mistress called for stable hands to bring something to calm the poor beast, Travesty recognized the implicit message of War Maiden’s return. The former paladin knew that War Maiden would never have returned without specific orders, and from the way the charger was acting, those orders were to bring help quickly.  Still, most people, especially those who spent their lives around normal horses, never realized how special a paladin’s mount truly was.  Megan Black did, for Invictus, her late mount, had shared that same great and loyal heart.

            Travesty reached the threshold of Westguard Keep before she had even finished her analysis of War Maiden’s behavior. She strode up the main stair to the keep’s war room, functionaries scattering out of her way like leaves before a thunderstorm. It was the feeling of a storm about to break which drew Captain Adam’s attention to the doorway as the personification of wrath, dressed head to toe in Saronite plate armor, entered.

            Yet Adams stayed calm in the face of Travesty’s obvious anger.

            “Commander, what can I do for ye?” he asked with the courtesy due one of his officers.

            “Are you aware that Paladin Black’s mount has just returned without her rider?” Travesty replied through gritted teeth.

            The captain’s own response came out in a hiss of breath. While he didn’t understand the death knight’s concern; Adams’ own became fully engaged. He had come away from his meeting with Scarlytte Black impressed by her competence, wry of humor, and most of all her compassion. Those qualities were what had decided Adams when Steerling had come to him with the intelligence gathering plan for Whisper Gulch.

            “Light take it all!” he hissed. “We don’t have the forces to send a rescue. The vyrkul have re-enforced Utgarde ,and we cannae afford to weaken our own posture even a little till we know where the blaygards are going to hit.”

            “I’ll take my own people and retrieve her, then,” Travesty replied coolly. “All I need to know is where you sent her.”

            Adams held back a snarl. “Didn’t ye hear me, girlie? We may be under siege at any moment and I cannae spare one warm body from the walls.”

            “Then you are in luck, Captain, as my body, and those of my people are cold,” Travesty watched his eyes widen, “And if I may remind you, Captain, the Ebon Blade are an allied force; not part of your chain of command. As such, I can and will dispose of my assets as I see fit.” The dwarf captain look ready to splutter his rage when the death  knight held a hand up. “Would there be an adverse effect on you battle plan if I and one of my people went on search and rescue for the paladin?”

            “Depends who you’d be leavin’ behind, Commander.”

            “You’d have Aaron LeGray, Whisper, and Mirina Snowblaze. I’ll even inform LeGrey he’s under your orders until I return.”

            “That is generous… of ye, Commander Travesty. And it makes me right curious as to why tis so important to risk so much for a paladin ye just met?”

            “If you were not in this strategic position would you leave one of your command behind?”

            “Nay, I would no, but that’s not the question is it? Scarlytte Black is no death knight, so she no of your command, yet you’re willing to risk yerself and one of your own to rescue her.” Adams stared right into Travesty’s eyes without flinching.  A multitude of suggestion of what to tell the captain came to mind, some truth, some lies, some a mix of both, but in the end it was easier to just show him. Slowly, Travesty removed her helm; praying the Captain was no fool.

            Adams’ studied the death knight’s face, and if he saw what Travesty hoped, he made no comment other than. “Steerling sent her off to investigate some strange happenings at Whisper Gulch. Go quickly, Commander Black, and Light protect ye.” 

            Whisper Gulch formed a natural northern moat for the keep. Strung with rickety wooden bridges, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to march an army in from this direction. From below, a cacophony welled up that spoke of threats more dire than armies. The death knights could make out small pieces of the babble coming from the dwarves; none of it comforting.

            “I do no like this,” Kern muttered from atop Horse, his charger. 

            “You never like anything, Kern, and we’re wasting daylight,” she replied then kicked Reaver into a trot. Kern and Horse followed a moment later. The knights had their weapons out as the unease of the place settled into them.

            As they followed a second ramp downward, the denizens of the Gulch made themselves known. Armed with shovels and pick axes, the dwarves attacked in a frenzy of madness. But madness was no armor against necromantic magic, war horses, and Saronite forged weapons. The bloody massacre was over in moments.  Reaver snorted his disdain of such inferior opponents as Travesty dismounted. Kern had frozen one of the dwarves in chains of ice, and Travesty hoped the  survivor had enough sense left to lead them to Scarlytte.

            “IT is close at hand!” the dwarf babbled, struggling against his chains, “You’ll know the truth soon and be free!”

            “I don’t care about this ‘IT’.” Travesty responded, trying desperately not to grit her teeth. “I seek only a red haired warrior who came here a few days past.”

            The madness in the dwarf’s eyes grew brighter. “Her! IT wants her. Wants her to see the Truth. IT will free her, but she fights… She fights even though ITs blood is in her veins now!”

            Travesty grabbed the dwarf by the collar, shattering the ice chains. “Where is she!”

            “Down, Down, Down, where that which must not be named waits.” Cackling rose from the dwarf’s throat, only to be cut off by Kern’s sword sliding into his heart. Watching the body sink to the ground Kern could only shake his head. “Was a mercy,” he said as he turned back to Horse.  “It sounds like we’ve less time than we thought, Travesty, so that’s find that sister of yours”

            All Travesty could do was nod as she swung her legs across Reaver’s back once more. New urgency forced the knights to press their mounts to a dangerous gallop down the remaining ridges and bridges of the Gulch. Reaching the floor, the knights searched both banks of the river that had carved this scar many eons ago.  The dwarves seemed to avoid the chasm floor, though there were obvious signs of mining, primitive smelting and blacksmithing work in some of the larger caves.

            “Travesty, here!” Kern pointed to an opening that was little more than a large crack in the stone wall large enough for one human to pass through. Both knights made their way inside single file. The passage opened into a chamber encrusted with unrefined Saronite. Faint beams of sunlight slanted their way through airshafts, illuminating the prone form on the floor.

            Scarlytte Black was still dressed in tunic and trousers, her wounds expertly bound. It was not what Travesty expected. Torture, filth, horror, yes, but not this. It was too clean, too simple.

            “Lass, stop broodin’ o’er our good fortune, and get her out of here,” Kern bellowed. Travesty snapped her attention back to Scarlytte, then knelt beside her.

            “Help me get her up… Light help us! Kern, look at this.” As Travesty had lifted her sister’s wrist to check for her pulse; she finally saw the horror she’d been expecting, and it was both less and a great deal more horrifying for its implications. A black translucent tendril rose out of the stone floor, pulsing with some fluid neither death knight could identify. It pierced the vein in Scarlytte’s right wrist, beating in time with the paladin’s heart.

            “This is no Arthas’ work.” Kern noted absently as they checked for more such veins. “Tis too subtle a thing, but the question becomes what is that?”

            “We can take a sample and figure it out back at the keep, for now I want this _thing_ out of my sister.” Travesty pulled her boot knife; slashing through the tendril as close to Scarlytte‘s wrist as she dared. Brackish black fluid spilled over the floor and on the edge of hearing there was a grunt, as if someone or something had just been bitten by an annoying insect. Travesty blocked whatever the sound was from her thoughts as she pulled the remaining piece of tendril from her sister’s skin. Kern took it, wrapping the wretched thing in a cloth before going to work with salves and bandages on the paladin.

                “I think that’s got it.” Kern looked up from his work. “We can move her now.”  Travesty lifted her sister gently, and slid sideways through the cramped opening. A noise caught her attention as Kern followed her out, and the two death knights were greeted with a mass of dwarves madmen waiting at the top of the ramp.

            The creatures stomped and howled more like animals than rational beings, but still they seemed to be building their courage to confront the two who had slaughtered so many already.

            “Damn it to bloody Hell!” Travesty yelled her frustration to the skies, as Kern mounted Horse. Thinking quickly, Travesty seated her sister behind Kern, wrapping the woman’s prone arms around the dwarf’s waist, then tying her hands to Horse’s saddlebow.

            “Kern, I’ll deal with that,” she said, pointing to the mob. “As soon as I have their attention, call the cold and cross the river. Find another way up to the keep.”

            The dwarf looked ready to protest, then just nodded. As Travesty threw herself into her saddle, she bellowed a war cry not used in years:

            “FOR THE ALLIANCE!”

            Reaver embraced his mistress’ frantic energy; charging up the slope into the mass of insanity. Horse and rider cut a bloody swath through the mob, but paid for victory in their own blood and energy. For each dwarf cut down by sword or felled by sharp hooves, a rent in armor or horse hide appeared in kind. Exhaustion became another enemy for Travesty and her mount, but the dead piling in heaps of discarded garbage offered opportunity.

            Her off hand weapon slipped back in its sheath, then her hand found the pouch of corpse dust. The handful blew across the fallen as grey ash; entering death wounds as a catalyst for necromantic power. The piles of dead began to shift as corpses stood once more, as silent in death as they had been vocal in life. Only one word was uttered with all the strength Travesty had left:

            “Attack!”

            The word sent the undead against their former brothers with the chilling remoteness of their breed. The terrible surprise opened a hole in the dwarves mob, and Travesty leaned her body against Reaver’s neck, giving the great stallion his head. Rushing across the bridge- trampling all who got in their way, Travesty’s only thought was to survive and see her sister once more. The supports on the far side of the bridge gave way under her swords, ensuring no pursuit. Reaver did not stop to enjoy the small triumph, but made his way up the slopes, and a last burst of speed saw him and his mistress safely through the gates of Westguard.

            The keep’s courtyard burst into a frenzy of action at their arrival. Again, Horse mistress Reese was the first to arrive, fearlessly grabbing the reigns of a creature she would have avoided like the Plague only a few days before. An odd thought ran through Travesty’s mind that maybe the stable mistress actually had some sort of extra sense when it came to horses in trouble. That musing faded as she was pulled from the saddle by Aaron LeGrey. Before she could ever protest being carried like a babe was beneath her dignity, Travesty was ensconced in the keep wing used as an infirmary. She turned her head to note that the room, while large enough for two beds, was divided by a curtain. She tried to shift so she could see past the barrier when Father Levariol strode into the room. Aaron had already went to work removing her armor, so the good healer could see to her wounds.

            Levariol hissed as he saw the number of severe bruises, and pick wounds that had managed to bypass her armor. “Young idiot!” he berated her as he cleaned the wounds. “You’re all of a kind, thinking you’re immortal!” Levariol laid hands on her, and it was Travesty’s turn to hiss as the holy power of the Light poured into her injuries.

            Once upon a time, the Light was a soothing thing as it healed, but after Arthas took her soul and raised a death knight, the Light caused her pain, even as it healed. It did no physical injury, only exposed the descant hollowness of the necromancy that animated her; a much more terrible kind of pain.

            “But I survived to be stupid another day, and that’s what the Alliance needs right now,” Travesty managed through her pain. “But my condition is less important that that of my man: Kern, his passenger, or our horses.”

            “The dwarf is a dwarf, rock stubborn like all his breed,” the priest replied gruffly as he studied his handiwork. “Insisted on being doctored rather than healed. Though his wounds were minor and thus freed up our healers for the paladin.” The old man’s face turned to grief for a moment before his gruff mask returned. “As for your beasts, you’ll have to speak to Chelsea, as I’m a priest not a horse healer.”

            “But the paladin… my sister?”

            Levariol’s eyes filled with the compassion of his office. “I am sorry, but she has not woken despite our best efforts. What she fights seems to be a malaise of the soul, but it seems we cannot reach her with the Light.”

            “An’ I’d like to ken what caused her condition,” Captain Adams said from the doorway. “Deadeye wouldn’t give me the time o’ day, so I’m hoping you might be able to shed light on the mystery of Whisper Gulch. Especially,” Adams held up the cloth with its piece of tendril. The cloth was now soaked black with the familiar sheen of Saronite, “this little trinket you brought back with you.”

            “Of course, Captain,” she said over the protests of both Levariol and Aaron, “but first, please, let me see my sister.”

            The captain nodded to the priest who slowly drew back the curtain separating them. Scarlytte lay on the bed, grey as death. Only ragged breath indicated life. Her skin was waxy and on her right arm where the tendril had pierced her, honeycomb shapes had begun to form. Weeping from those pores were brackish tears of liquid Saronite. Scarlytte shivered then convulsed in pain. Unthinking, Travesty reached out, pulling herself from her own bed to her sister’s side, whispering as she held her sibling’s hand tight. The convulsions calmed, and for the first time since her arrival at Westguard, the injured paladin relaxed. Levariol shot a satisfied glance at both Adams and LeGrey, as if he had expected as much.

                Travesty closed her eyes, and began her recital in a dead voice.

            “When the Lich King woke from his five year dream, one of the first orders he gave the Scourge was to mine as much of a certain ore only found in the interior of Northrend: Saronite. With it he re-enforced Icecrown Citadel, built the gates of wrath, desolation, death, and forged a new war machine.”

            “Saronite is unnatural material, only found here, and Arthas has used the advantage the metal gives him to the fullest,” Travesty continued, “I know a little of metal working” She looked almost abashed as she admitted, “Jewelry making’s been a hobby of mine since I was a child.” Shaking off her discomfort she continued, “but Saronite is nothing like I’ve ever seen. I’ll wear the finished product but I don’t work with it.  That’s what’s being mined in Whisper Gulch, that’s what might have driven your explorers mad, and that’s what’s killing my sister!”

            Captain Adams shook his head. “Everywhere we turn on this blasted piece o’ rock things go agley! Bad enough when it was just the Scourge, but with the blue dragons and now this? How in in the name of the Light are we supposed to fight such a war.”

            To Travesty’s surprise, it was Father Levariol who responded, “with faith, courage, tenacity and the experience of our allies, even when it differs from what we know.” The priest gestured to the open doorway and an elegant draenei female slipped inside. At first, Travesty expected another priest of the Light, but the violet skinned female dressed in chain with a well worn axe at her side.          

            “This is Innari, a shaman. She was one of the first to attend to Paladin Black.” Levariol looked pained by their failure. “This Saronite, as you call it, may keep her from hearing the Light, but Innari thinks there maybe be other ways to reach her.”

            The draenei picked up the narrative, ”During the genocide of my people in Outland, a fell attack on Shattrath left the paladin defenders who stayed behind cut off from the Light and changed in appearance.” Innari saw the panic in Travesty’s eyes. “No, I do not think it has gone as far with you sister as it had with the Kronkul, but one of those former paladins brought another path back to the Draenei, and I believe this path- that of the vision quest, can reach your sister, if you will walk it with me.”

            “How is that possible? I’m no shaman, so how can I help?”

            Innari gestured to the Travesty’s hands, still clutching at her sister’s. “You have been the only person who has been able to calm her. Even in this state, she knows and trusts you. The good father and I suspected such, when rumor reached us of your connection, but your own actions confirm it. She will listen, and I will guide you to where she can hear.”

            No hesitation, no doubt cluttered her words:

            “What do you need?"

* * *

 

            What was needed was surprisingly simple: a small incense brazier, an elk-hide drum.  With these things in hand, Innari politely yet forcefully removed all others from the room. The shaman took a chair between knight and paladin, and looked at Travesty. “This will be much like the meditations paladins do. But rather than commune with the Light, you must listen for the sound of the drum. It will guide you where you need to be.”

            Travesty’s eyes narrowed for a moment. “And will it guide us back out?”

            “If the spirits will, yes.”

            “Lovely,” Travesty murmured and closed her eyes.

            The state still came easily even after all this time. Travesty could feel the Light on the edges of her consciousness, jangling against the necromancy that animated her. Even through the pain, a small part of her longed to embrace it, even though it would mean her destruction.  That choice was taken from her as a drumbeat thrummed in her ears and Travesty fell.

            Downward she plunged into mist and shadow until she crashed to her knees against a cold hard surface. Travesty reaching for her weapons as she looked about. The drum no longer sounded, and there was no sign of the mist. Looking down, she realized she’d landed on a sheet of thick ice. Beneath, curled in deathly slumber was the skeleton of a dragon. Icecrown, she was in Icecrown.

            _Intelligent and adaptable,_ came a voice that whispered intimately into her mind. _Let us see if you have the intelligence to understand what I have to show you._ Before Travesty could respond, a brilliant light brightened the dark heavens. It was the largest falling star Travesty had ever seen, but even as it fell, threads of gray mist reached upward. Each thread anchored itself within the small sun, guiding it down into the glacier. Racing across the treacherous ice, Travesty made her way to the crash site; in desperate need to confirm her fears: the Lich King had come. But there were differences between the stories she had heard and what she observed now. The threads wove their way into the Lich King’s helm and into Frostmourne itself. Down them came subtle whispers, suggestions, plans, permutations such that Ner’zhul would never recognize them as not being his own.

            Mist swallowed the horror before Travesty could assimilate it fully. Now she was standing atop a hill that commanded one of the best views of Daggercap Bay. She watched as humans slogged onto the shores of what would become Valgarde. Prince Arthas Menethil was among them, and the moment his boots touched the soil of Northrend, threads of mist and shadow wrapped around him. That same voice that whispered to old Ner’zhul now whispered to the prince as well. And in his rage and lust for vengeance Arthas’ chances against the subtle corruption were nil.

            “This is your doing!” Travesty shouted into the mist that now enveloped once more. “You created this horror.”

            _Oh, not I. I just took advantage of situations as they presented themselves. Pawns are always useful, and always disposable if necessary._

            “I don’t care about your games. I want my sister.”

            _Ah, that one. She has a strong will too. I have never had a human fight me so before. She has the potential to be more than a pawn, as do you._

            Even as the entity whispered, some of the mist cleared, and Scarlytte lay  a few feet away; the reflection of her poisoning in the dream world was nightmarish. Her skin the same waxy grey, but rather than honeycomb like structures, mouths fed from tentacles filed with foul Saronite. The worse were Scarlytte’s eyes; scaled over with the gruesome metal.    

            Travesty went down besides the limp form. “Scar? It’s Meggie. Please, wake up!”

            The desecrated face turned, searching without sight. “Meggie? No… Meggie’s dead, it’s more lies… why are you telling me more lies?”

            “Scar, remember the peach tree?” Travesty pleaded. “You got caught up there, and I talked you down when you got scared. We told Papa the scratches you got were from running through some bramble, ‘cause you didn’t want him to know how afraid you’d been.”

            Hope chased disbelief on Scarlytte’s face. “Meggie, how…?”

            “We’ll save the ‘how’ for when we’re safe, right now you need to call the Light.”

            “I can’t!” Scarlytte shook her head violently, “IT told me the Light abandoned me; that’s why I’m here.”

            “You thought I was a lie from this ‘IT’, right?” Travesty watched as Scarlytte nodded slowly. “So if ‘IT’ has been lying to you the entire time, why couldn’t it be lying about the Light abandoning you?”

            She watched as the paladin worked through the logic then switched tacks. “You remember what they taught us in training….”

            “… the Light will never leave you, only you can leave the Light,” Scarlytte finished in a stronger voice. “Okay, Megan, I’ll try, but it‘s hard.”

            Travesty squeezed her sister’s hand, “Our teachers never promised the right thing would be ever be easy.” Scarlytte choked a laugh then relaxed.

            _The paladin is mine, as you are mine, as ALL are mine in the end!_ IT screamed in the darkness; sending tentacles directed at Travesty’s chest. They pierced armor, flesh, bone, and heart, but no connection was made. There were no deeper whispers except what echoed in the dream realm; IT could not find a foothold inside her.

            Travesty’s laugh was bloody, but strong as she spoke, “You’re too late. Frostmourne ate my soul long ago, and without that you have nothing. I’m already dead, but my will is stronger than even the grave.”

            The dream world shook from an incoherent scream as a sword cut through Travesty’s bonds. Scarlytte stood, fully healed, sheathed in the Light, holding her sister’s hand. Light and dark they were, readying themselves for IT’s next move. But the sound of a drum intervened, pulling them upward and into their bodies once more.

* * *

 

            Several days passed as the ravages suffered in the dream world healed. Both women spent much of that time in a blessedly dreamless sleep, until Innari and Father Levariol pronounced them fit enough to leave their beds for small measures of time.

            Their first evening up found the two women sitting on the Cliffside watching the ocean. Few dared, approach as the rumors that made their way about the keep, painting their deeds with an aura of awe.

            “When do you think it will wear off?” Scarlytte asked her sister.

            “Till the next time one of us spills her soup in the mess or gets drunk at the inn,” Travesty replied with a slight smile that faded. “So what do we do now you know?”

            “We beat all comers, win this war, and you come home to your family,” Scarlytte said with a firmness that would not be denied. Travesty’s eyes blinked away tears.

            “That easy, is it?”

            “No, but nothing worthwhile ever is.”

            Light and dark, they sat watching the waters as the sun set behind them.

 

         End

**Author's Note:**

> Wrath of the Lich King, World of Warcraft and associated characters and locales are the property of Blizzard. Scarlytte Black, Megan Black/Black Travesty,Kern Deadeye, Aaron LeGrey, Whisper, and Mirina Snowblaze are all original characters created by the author.


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